Gert Strydom, 12 november 2015
Maybe we both will be lost
in the back streets of Paris,
or will take a taxi
in the narrow streets of Spain?
Maybe we will rather have to go
to Uvongo or Margate,
or to somewhere on the South Coast
or at Stilbaai or further on
to walk beaches full of tracks,
to experience the wind, the sun and sea,
to know each other better and walk together,
to burn to the colour of a wild olive tree
or if you do really want to
we could ask that strange thing
that hangs flashing in the sky
to take us away to Mars?
Gert Strydom, 12 november 2015
Maybe I will never have any children
and your children that I regard as my own
who constantly demolish me with their words
and try to overwhelm my life with violence and force
may stop and maybe you will lie against me
to procreate a new life during this pregnant night
or maybe I will have to wait forever
on small bare feet to totter
or maybe between the white and black
I will have to hope constantly on conversion
and keep looking for grey arias in the depths of my heart
as maybe things will change with the passing of time
or maybe I do need only to write these words down
and have got to forget of a child with eyes and a body.
Gert Strydom, 11 november 2015
You are so much a part of me
that I do not have to remember
where you fit into my life
and are not able to forget
my feelings for you
and as each day passes
the small little things
brings us still closer
with feelings that are true.
Loving comes so easily
like rain falling from the sky
and the you and I
are truly blessed to be us.
Gert Strydom, 10 november 2015
You lightning flash a moment
like a laser beam,
the image of my piece of paper
is taken off
and while you grumble
you spit it out at one side
and can make innumerable more
while most people view you
as a exceptional wonderful thing
but when you do get tired
and eat papers
people have to gut them out
from somewhere deep
in your intestines.
Gert Strydom, 9 november 2015
I do love Africa
and although my predecessors
did pay with their blood
to be able to live here
there is no fear in me
even when shots were fired
as somewhere the signs of the white
is thundered into the ground
as if coming from heaven itself
and although some black rises
through the red-brown dust
and is present in drums
when indunas dance with their spears around fires
and although everywhere there are hungry people
that has been broken by poverty,
and people are praying for rain
while the desert is stretching wide
I still want to remain in my Africa
as after more than three hundred years
even if culture and language
leaves its own mark
we are without any colour
with the sand being blown by the same winds
and only people,
visitors to this
incredible continent
that does belong to all the children that she brings forth.
Gert Strydom, 6 november 2015
While everything is turning brown outside
and this winter is getting its grip
you are still
the most beautiful flower in my garden,
and your fragrance stays in my thoughts with me,
while I hear your voice
by playing your songs over and over again
and I wish that I could steal you,
could transplant to be here with me.
Gert Strydom, 5 november 2015
It’s as if my whole life is breaking in pieces
and all around me I see some of the pieces lying
without the opportunity to do anything about it
as if the new government of the country
and destiny together
does tear my career apart
and from one contract to the next
I do jump
like pieces of a puzzle that are getting less
and when there are no more pieces
I am alone and extradited
as if nothing more
can fit into
my puzzle.
Gert Strydom, 4 november 2015
My small Jack Russell dog sniffs around
on the ground
to find something nice to eat
or some other kind of meat
and a paper blows in the wind
but it does not bother her at all
where she is standing over something small
Gert Strydom, 3 november 2015
(after Rudolf Otto Wierner)
With self contempt I stand in the veldt
and each heroic act
is just another task that destiny does demand
that does not make me greater than others
and the hunger to kill
flows on and forth
while war machinery
does sing in a deadly choir
and the rifle in my hands
that point to the enemy
is stripped from any language
but death that it brings about
and the knowledge does intrude
that still it brings destruction
[Reference: “Hungerblümchen” by Rudolf Otto Wierner.]
Gert Strydom, 2 november 2015
Your body lies shattered on the veldt
in the long rust brown winter grass
where you are almost devoured
and half burned
where you did fall out of a battle tank
when that deadly projectile did hit
and the blue sky, the wind that blows lightly at times
now has no impact on you
and scavengers will bring your bones to skeleton,
where you do have nothing left of life
and in Cuba the great leader will roll another fat cigar,
will draw his cheeks full in pleasure of it
and still your wife will remember you
while life does rush on.
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